


This Bibliophilic Greed

by KannaOphelia



Series: 31 First Kisses: Good Omens [9]
Category: Good Omens (Radio), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale's Book Shop (Good Omens), Bibliophilia, Bickering, Both angels and demons can be incredibly petty, First Kiss, Fluff, Happy Ending, Humor, M/M, Post-Almost Apocalypse (Good Omens), Radio Canon, Sexual References, South Downs Cottage (Good Omens), Technically book shops are supposed to sell books, four things, ineffable husbands
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-21
Updated: 2019-12-21
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:35:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21885337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KannaOphelia/pseuds/KannaOphelia
Summary: Four times Crowley attempts to buy a book.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: 31 First Kisses: Good Omens [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1559824
Comments: 36
Kudos: 303
Collections: An Angel and a Demon Walked into a Bookshop: Ineffable Husbands Stories





	This Bibliophilic Greed

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Deamonia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Deamonia/gifts).



> The Advent Calendar prompt for today, "Gift", just happens to be on the same day as my very dear friend's birthday. Happy birthday, Deamonia--I have written radio!fic for you. 
> 
> I've listed this in the book section, because radio is closer to book canon than series.

1\. Eleven years really wasn't all that long for an immortal being. They had been a rather full eleven years. Really, it wasn't all that surprising that Crowley, slouched on the couch drinking Scotch and listening to Aziraphale grumble tediously on about aggressive book acquisitions, remembered something and decided to be annoyed about it after more than a decade.

"Demons do buy books, you know," he'd said, and Aziraphale had ignored it. As if it wasn't even worthy of a response.

A charitable mindset would have interpreted this as Aziraphale noticing Crowley was stressed and shocked and going straight to affectionate concern. Luckily, Crowley was a demon, and prided himself on his uncharitable mindset, which he considered a lot more fun. So he chose to decide that Aziraphale felt that books were his special angelic territory, that an uncultured demon who listened to pop music wouldn't possibly understand.

Wars, Crowley felt, had been declared for far more trivial reasons. Starting right with the First War and "Hey, why do these two ape creatures get a whole planet of their own?"

Besides, he was bored, and he always did enjoy provoking Aziraphale. It made Aziraphale's eyes sparkle, and his lips press together, and his eyebrows draw together in the most unangelic irritation, which Crowley definitely did not store in his mental filing cabinet brain labelled "A for Adorable"--he didn't even a mental file like that, and it definitely didn't have kittens or Warlock in it, let alone Aziraphale--but if he had, it might have been there.

He unfolded himself from the couch. Aziraphale was too caught up in his complaints to notice. Sometimes Crowley felt he would be as satisfied with a parrot who said "Awful humans, I know," every now and then as with a demon as a best friend, except parrots wouldn't pick up the tab at the Ritz. Crowley carefully fanned the small flame of his annoyance until it was satisfyingly big enough to goad him to battle.

Crowley drifted into the _back_ back room and inspected the climate controlled cabinets. The Bibles were no good, he wasn't about to burn his hands off. He was right off prophecy books for a while.

Something caught his eye.

Crowley dumped a leather bound folio in front of Aziraphale, interrupting him mid sentence.

"Why on earth do you have that? It should be in its cabinet. Its _locked_ cabinet."

"Locks mean nothing to me, you know that," Crowley purred. "I want to buy it."

"Certainly not. It's not for sale."

"This is a book shop. How much is it priced at?"

"Three million pounds, and I'm not selling it to you. Now put it back, there's a good fellow."

Crowley pursed his lips, but he knew Aziraphale wasn't exaggerating. There were officially only 234 first edition copies of Shakespeare's First Folio known to be in existence. Between them lay the 353rd, with the glowing inscription _to Myne Angele, from his Will._ Crowley had always thoroughly hated that inscription, although he knew perfectly well Aziraphale considered himself to have had just a benign business relationship with a married playwright. It never _did_ seem to occur to Aziraphale that anyone considered him carnally attractive. Still, Crowley disliked the inscription. He would rip it out once he owned the book.

"Bit rich, isn't it? I'll offer you two and a half."

"Absolutely not." Aziraphale's eyes had started to sparkle in that intriguing way. "Three million pounds is a perfectly reasonable valuation, even if it was for sale."

Crowley signed, feigning reluctance, and pulled out a credit card. It twinkled, discreetly platinum. "Three million it is. Now wrap it up for me, there's a good fellow."

Aziraphale made a quick, annoyed gesture, and the Folio vanished. "You're not as amusing as you think you are, Crowley."

"Now, that's a lie," Crowley drawled, and Aziraphale turned pink. Interesting.

"Some things are not joking matters. Now, let's head out for lunch. I fancy lamb."

 _I fancy you,_ Crowley thought, but it was a comfortable, old thought and not a useful one, and he knew it would only get him a reproving glare. He wouldn't mention buying books for a bit. No rush.

It was enough that Aziraphale suspected that hostilities had been announced.

2.

Aziraphale didn't get email but his lawyer--a literally Hell-approved one picked out by Crowley, which Aziraphale tried to make up for by sending the lawyer nice improving little homilies on occasion--did. So eventually the proposition to purchase his 1725 copy of the _Abremalim_ magic grimoire made its way down his phone to his shell-like angelic ear, which began to tremble.

With that impossible money, Aziraphale could buy--what _couldn't_ he buy? Any manuscript he could track down. His wildest dreams would be child's play. He could do good in the world, too, he reminded himself hastily. He had several foundations that could do with an injection of cold hard cash. And he would still have his own two original manuscripts, signed and dedicated by Abraham of Worms.

Not that Aziraphale should have possibly Satanic grimoires at all, he supposed. But they had been a gift from Crowley--

_Crowley._

"It's an offer from a private foundation?"

"They wished to remain anonymous."

"I'm sure they did. My dear, do you know of such things as private investigators? I need to know who has made this proposition." Aziraphale remembered the magic words that influenced humans better than any angelic power or Satanic spell. "Spare no expense."

It took a few weeks but eventually the name of the secretive organisation was tracked down through several shell companies and revealed. Sechs, Sechs and Sechs Limited.

"Thank you," Aziraphale said calmly. "Tell your agent, no sale." This, he reflected, was important. This was books. This was _war_.

And then he invited Crowley out for lunch and said nothing at all about it. Really, he thought, looking at Crowley's handsome face, flushed with wine and laughter, if Crowley set that brilliant brain and capacity for hard work to it, he could rule the world. Probably a good thing he chose to devote it to petty mind games instead. No one could be as petty as a demon trying to prove a point.

Except, possibly, an angel set on thwarting him.

Mind games. Aziraphale knew he was right. They were clearly mind games. And if Crowley was stooping to trying to buy books through agents, then anyone who came into the shop was suspect. Normally, Aziraphale reluctantly sold a book every now and then, to someone who would really appreciate it, to keep up appearances and stop being inspected as a money-laundering outfit. Now, he didn't dare.

Aziraphale peered into the faces of even his most familiar and long-suffering customers, and saw Crowley's elegant smile. He listened to a minister chatting about the differences in Bible translations, and heard a voice as rich and wicked as coffee. He looked into the eyes of a middle aged woman, telling him tearfully that her Nanna had collected every first edition _William_ book all her childhood and they had been lost in a fire, and saw the glittering eyes of a triumphant demon. He became completely ruthless. No book was leaving his shop.

Aziraphale was beginning to be afraid he was going a little mad.

But he would _not_ let Crowley win this stupid game.

3.

An angel and a demon were peacefully drinking tea at Claridge's, when the demon suddenly snapped "Stay here, I'll be back," and stormed out.

When he came back twenty minutes later, Aziraphale was sipping a fresh cup of tea, looking serene and handsome and utterly infuriating. Crowley slammed a book down on the table in front of him.

"Look. A book. I bought it. At W. H. Smith's. Because that's what book shops do, Aziraphale, _they sell books._ "

Aziraphale sniffed. "If you can call it a book shop. More like a jumped-up newsagent."

"That's not the point, and you know it. It's a book. I bought it. Ergo, demons do buy books."

"That proves nothing." Aziraphale smiled primly at him.

" _Why not_?"

"Are you trying to tell me you bought it because you really, deeply wanted it?"

"I might have," Crowley said, a less certainly.

They both looked down at the lurid paperback. At the time, buying a book heavily featuring naked male chests, one of which was paired with feathery wings, had seemed a brilliant idea, calculated to unsettle the angel. Unfortunately the angel seemed distinctly settled, and Crowley was trying to resist the urge to shift from foot to foot. Not even Beelzebub could make him feel this uncomfortable when he was called on the carpet for exaggerating on his reports.

"It's paranormal romance. Thought it might give me some ideas," Crowley drawled.

Aziraphale rolled his eyes to the heavens. "Must you make everything seem like a proposition?"

Crowley sidled a little closer. "Do you want me to?"

Aziraphale ignored him. "The point is, buying a book is not like buying a stereo, or a car. It has to come from a deep love and need for the book."

"You just insulted the Bentley, didn't you? Aziraphale, even you can go too far."

"Buying a book just to annoy me is impure. It can never prove anything."

Crowley stared at him. Aziraphale was actually looking a little flustered. Really unlike him. But then -- Aziraphale was a bit bonkers about books, wasn't he? Sure, Aziraphale enjoyed all the pleasures of the world, but books were a bit different. Books, to him, were the culminating achievement of creative human minds. They were... spiritual.

Crowley thought that perhaps he was taking the wrong tactic. He picked up the book, and tucked it away in a jacket pocket for later perusal.

"All right," he said. Aziraphale looked startled. "Come on, let's feed the ducks," Crowley purred.

 _Must you make everything you say sound like a proposition_?

Crowley tucked his arm companionably into Aziraphale's as they walked and drew him closer, and Aziraphale, obviously feeling like he was winning their argument, didn't object.

4.

Aziraphale wasn't sure what Crowley was up to. Something nefarious, obviously. When pressed, he'd said _playing humans_ with a snakelike and distinctly inhuman grin that had far too many sharp teeth, and perhaps a hint of a forked tongue behind it.

Aziraphale knew that his proper course of action was to thwart any demonic plans in the offing. He also knew that he wasn't always, strictly speaking, as good at doing what he should do, even before the Antichrist debacle, and certainly where a certain demon was concerned. And the poor dear boy's pride was probably injured after the lecture.

So when he found himself barrelling through Sussex, he put some pleasant music on and tried to stop his face being blown off his head with the velocity.

Crowley was humming to himself, in a self-satisfied way. It should have made Aziraphale's hackles rise, but it was, well, somewhat endearing somehow. The demon had probably pulled off some utterly terrible work of infernal art, smearing a thousand souls, and was going to be smug about it.

Oh, well. That was Crowley's job, and all part of the proper functioning of the universe. No sense being tetchy about it, not when it was much more pleasant to watch strong hands spinning the wheel of the Bentley, a really dangerously, seductively beautiful voice humming along with _The Magic Flute_.

 _Dangerous_ and _seductive_ were not particularly comfortable words to occur to him in relation to Crowley, but they occurred anyway.

Aziraphale was somewhat bewildered when _playing humans_ turned out to mean being shown around a tidy cottage with a SOLD sign. It was nice enough, in a spartan way. Much cosier chairs than he expected, somehow, considering the blank white flat.

"Good investment, don't you think?" Crowley asked at last. "Properties near the sea but close enough not to tumble in are going like hotcakes."

"Yes, I suppose so," said Aziraphale, a little confused. If Crowley was investing in real estate, Aziraphale expected it to be gleaming glass and steel skyscrapers, or massive brutalist buildings like square monsters lurking in the landscape.

"There are actual ducks in the duck pond. But you haven't seen the best bit. Look," Crowley said, looking almost excited, if he was ever uncool enough to be so. He opened the final door.

Aziraphale looked upon Heaven. No, not Heaven. The City of Light was dull and void of wonders compared to this. Bookshelves lined the walls, and Aziraphale could tell with every instinct in him that they were all ones he didn't own. First editions, odd editions, tiny print runs, books thought long lost. Every one rare and precious --

\-- well, no. One set of shelves was dedicated to thrillers, horror stories, true crime, and criminology. Crowley had never been above learning from humans.

"These are all yours," Aziraphale said faintly.

"Yours, if you like," Crowley said, rocking back on snakeskin heels with an elaborate lack of feeling. "Or, ours. Go with the cottage, and I was thinking it would be convenient to have both our names on it in case I get stuck downstairs for a while. And you can stay as much as you like, you know. Thought we could run down to the country every now and then, on Tuesdays, or when you're sick of people trying to buy your books for a bit, don't know what kind of monsters would do something like that, and I don't have much going on temptation-wise."

"Crowley."

"Waste so much time tootling back and forth between my flat and your shop. Might be nice to have a place that is both of ours."

"Yes."

"Yes?" Crowley didn't often seem flustered, but he did now.

"Yes." Aziraphale thought he should say something else. "Thank you."

"Well, that's fine then. Nice to get it out of the way." Crowley was visibly trying not to grin. "Do you know, I bought _all_ these books?"

"Crowley. I told you, you can't buy books to prove a point, or the point remains unmade."

"Oh, you think I didn't really want them?" Crowley's eyes glinted dangerously. "Couldn't possibly have wanted to buy a nice present for you. Couldn't have spent months tracking them down because I wanted to make our house comfortable. Well, I suppose if neither of us wants them, I'll just have to burn them all." He gestured, and hellfire appeared on his fingertips.

"Crowley, if you dare!" Aziraphale flung himself onto Crowley, at the breaking point of fury and agony. Of course Crowley _wouldn't_ \--but he was a demon, wasn't he? Capacity for evil was built in.

"Ow, angel, wait, you can't just--" Crowley twisted under him, keeping his fingers away. "Are you bloody stupid? That's hellfire."

"You're not burning our books unless you burn me first."

" _Our_ books, did you say?" Crowley was grinning smugly at him, and Aziraphale didn't even care that he had lost.

"Really, you can be the sweetest thing," Aziraphale said, a bit hoarsely.

Crowley made a face. "Don't make me wash your mouth out with soap." But his smile was twitching happily.

"I'd like to see you try."

"I thought tempting was _my_ job? Speaking of which, humans would probably be feeling sexual desire at this point," Crowley said, as if coming up with an interesting fact. "I mean, seeing that you have me pinned down like this."

"Are you tempting me, serpent?" Aziraphale demanded.

"Me? Never," drawled Crowley. "Just making an observation."

Aziraphale looked down at him. Perhaps it was out of heady relief still. Or perhaps because Crowley really was looking ridiculously handsome, with his usually sleek dark hair all mussed up and his exposed eyes yellow. Or perhaps because Aziraphale was still stinging over the books and wanted to catch him off-foot for once. He said, primly, "Go on, then."

" _What_?" Aziraphale had the satisfaction of seeing Crowley's eyes go wide with shock.

"Tempt me. I don't see why you're so surprised. We managed to access these bodies' abilities to enjoy things like food and alcohol, right? We just have to find the... switch, I suppose, and turn it on."

"Turn it on," Crowley said faintly. "That's one way of putting it. Are you sure?"

"Well, why not?" Aziraphale felt like he was talking himself into it as well. "Is there anyone you would rather try it with?" He felt an odd prickle of jealousy.

"Shut up. Of course not. I mean," Crowley went on, turning his face away and looking a little red. "As you're here and you understand already. Much more comfortable with you."

"Well, then." Aziraphale smiled down at him, trying to hide his nervousness and his worry that it was not a good idea to disrupt their comfortable -- relationship. That's what it was. Stop trying to avoid that word. They were practically _married_ , just not, ah. Consummated. They were _joint book owners_. "Let's both try to access sexual feelings, then. On the count of three. One, two--"

He was abruptly silenced as Crowley surged up against him, mouth desperate, hands clawing the back of his neck in an attempt to deepen the kiss. The demon's legs wrapped around Aziraphale's thighs, as if Crowley's very existence depended on getting as close as possible. Crowley's hips thrust to press himself, hard and hot, against where liquid fire--blood? Could it really just be blood?--was gathering in Aziraphale's own corporation, and really Crowley's sinful chocolate voice was even more beautiful when he forgot how to use breath properly to make the sounds work.

Oh. Well, that was all right, then. Heigh-ho.

5.

"Well, that was instructive." Aziraphale felt vaguely that he should button his shirt back up, but Crowley's head was currently cradled against his bare chest, and he was disinclined to disturb him.

"You're telling me." Crowley yawned, and then turned his head slightly to drop a kiss on Aziraphale's bare skin. It felt oddly familiar to have such an open expression of affection, even though it had never happened before. "I had no idea you had such a shocking vocabulary. I mean how does an angel even _know_ what those words mean, let alone how to do them?"

"I do read, you know. I have a whole shop full of books." Aziraphale waved at the shelves around them with the arm that wasn't wrapped around Crowley's bare hips. he seemed to have been more successful in getting Crowley's clothes off than Crowley had been with his. "I am quite up to date with modern concepts."

"Then why do you think all music after 1950 is bebop? Oh, Satan. I _knew_ you were putting it on to annoy me."

"You're full of surprises, too. I never thought you were capable of such sentimentality. Such a range of endearments for a demon." He stroked Crowley's dark hair.

"Oh, shut it. Don't hold against a being what they say when you are doing things like _that_ to them." He snuggled closer. "I did mean it, you know. I do." He buried his face to hide his expression. "Always did."

"I know, dear." Aziraphale sighed contentedly. "Me too."

"Huh." Somehow Crowley managed to sound sulky and pleased all at once. "Just don't expect me to start bringing you flowers and serenading you because we're shagging."

"Wouldn't think of it. Taking me out to dinner every now and then might be nice."

"Oh, that will be a big disruption in our lifestyle. Don't know how I'll cope with the change."

"Holding hands," Aziraphale ventured.

"Yeah. I'd like that. Didn't think you would." Crowley's hand crept up between them and found Aziraphale's own, twining their fingers together.

"I would love it, dear boy." Aziraphale felt a rosy glow at the thought. Out in public, making it _clear_ that they belonged together. No reason to hide anymore.

Crowley seemed to be having the same thought. "I'm sick of people wondering if we're together and double-taking if I slip and call you 'angel'. Might simplify things if we, you know, decided how to refer to each other." There was a long pause, Crowley hissing to himself as if trying to make a place for words. Aziraphale waited patiently, despite the fact that his heart was currently jumping up and down and singing. "Get matching rings or something," the demon mumbled at last.

"That sounds very convenient," Aziraphale said, with all the calmness he could muster. "I take it that 'my husband' would satisfy any curiosity?"

"Might as well. Living together and all." The grip of Crowley's hand was so tight it almost hurt. Aziraphale didn't mind at all. "My angel husband. Oh, bless, can't believe I just said that. I'm just going to go take a dip in a lake of lava, don't mind me."

Aziraphale chuckled and pulled him up and kissed him, long and deep and tenderly, feeling the trusting way Crowley's mouth opened to his, the ancient secure _love_ of it all, the reassuring strength of affection going back centuries. Why hadn't they done this long before? It felt so natural, as if Aziraphale had been afraid of a huge change that wasn't actually a change at all.

"Ssssso, remind me to buy books more often," Crowley sighed, and Aziraphale pinched him. And then kissed him better, because he really wasn't very annoyed at all.

"I never actually said demons don't buy books, you know," Aziraphale said, and Crowley laid his head on his shoulder and shook with laughter. 

"A whole filing cabinet."

"What?" Aziraphale blinked.

"Labelled _A_."

"I have no idea what you mean, dearest."

"Never mind. But victory is sweet."

"I suppose it is," Aziraphale said fondly, cuddling his demon and thinking happily about all the new books he didn't have to sell.

**Author's Note:**

> 1) A new copy of the First Folio was discovered in 2015, the date of the radio adaptation
> 
> 2) The grimoire purports to be an account of Egyptian magic, and was a great influence on that other Crowley.
> 
> 3) Title from this poem:
> 
> “My depth of purse is not so great  
> Nor yet my bibliophilic greed,  
> That merely buying doth elate:  
> The books I buy I like to read:  
> Still e'en when dawdling in a mead,  
> Beneath a cloudless summer sky,  
> By bank of Thames, or Tyne, or Tweed,  
> The books I read — I like to buy.”  
> ― A. Edward Newton, The Amenities of Book Collecting and Kindred Affections


End file.
